French Revelations
by ItsADuckStupid
Summary: Sequel to Los Angeles Revelations [Complete]
1. Hiding

Title: French Revelations  
  
Author: Duck  
  
Rating: PG-13 just to be completely safe  
  
Genre: Drama/Romance  
  
Summary: Sequel to Los Angeles Revelations. I'm not going to tell you anymore than that.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Alias, or anything connected to it. Although, if the world were perfect, Michael Vartan would belong to me.  
  
Authors Note: People have been begging me for a sequel, so here it is! Warning: Most of these characters are not found in the show. The ones that do appear do not play a huge role. This is about Emily, and what happened to her in the last four years. Huge thanks to Amy, my Alias vent and muse and Melia, who has reviewed every fic I've ever done. You've really encouraged me. By the way, if someone happens to have a very good knowledge of Rome, could you email me? I have a few questions regarding a fic my friend is writing.  
  
  
  
  
  
***  
  
"Madame, this building is absolutely marvelous. You have to tell me what decorator you used," Genevieve Martin gushed. She was excited by anything and loved everything, including her husband of two years, Jack. At least, that's what "Madame" Anabella Marshall thought.  
  
"I've had five people ask me that same question. I didn't tell them either," Anabella replied smugly. People like Genevieve Martin repulsed her. She strode away quickly, looking for someone more interesting to talk to.  
  
Genevieve pulled slightly on her husband's arm whispered in his ear, "What a bitch." All while keeping the bubbly personality she was associated with. Jack smiled down at her before surreptitiously glancing around.  
  
"Darling, do you need to freshen up?"  
  
"Yes, actually I do. I'll be back in a few." Genevieve pecked her husband's cheek and hurried down a flight of stairs. She walked quickly, or as quickly as she could in a tiny black dress and stiletto heels, looking for a door marked "Ronald Percival" A few twists and turns later she was working quickly to unlock the office door. Using a pin from her hair and something she pulled from her purse, the lock quickly clicked, allowing Genevieve to enter. A quick glance at her watch told her how much time she had before the security cameras came back on, and it was plenty.  
  
"Good work Cleo," she muttered to herself, thankful she had such a trustworthy partner. Marcus Weiss, or Cleo, as she liked to call him, was her best friend and partner at the CIA. She had christened him Cleo after reading her mind on several occasions.  
  
The vault she had to open was not state of the art, so it was only the work of a moment before she had an aged document stuffed in the skirt of her dress. It had taken her a year to track down that piece of paper, and it had been well worth it. Now she needed to get back to Jack, or Cleo, without being caught.  
  
She blended well with the crowd, but couldn't locate Cleo. It wasn't like him to disappear during a mission, so she was worried. Turning on her transmitter, she hissed, "Where the hell are you?"  
  
She was greeted by a woman's voice.  
  
"Well well. What do we have here? A young man like you shouldn't be at a party like this. What did you say your name was?" The woman's tone was mocking, but there was an undertone that suggested she had Spanish background.  
  
"Jack Martin"  
  
"Nice to meet you Jack. You can call me Anna. I like you, but I tend to have mood swings, so that could change quickly. You see, Jack, I think we're here for the same reason. But, Jack Martin, that single sheet of paper happens to be missing, and I think you know where it is. So if you would just tell me who has it, I'd be happy to spare your life." Anna's dripped with danger.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Tsk tsk Jack. I don't like being lied to. And although I know I could easily break you, by then that little piece of paper will be long gone. So I'm going to ask you one more time. Where is the Rambaldi document?"  
  
"I have no idea."  
  
"Then I'm sorry, Jack Martin, but I have no choice."  
  
Genevieve held her breath. Cleo couldn't die, not like that. A gunshot made her spill the champagne she had been holding, and it took all of her training to keep that bubbly personality active. She slipped out quietly, cursing the tight dress that restricted her from going back in there and kicking some ass. Cleo had been her only friend at the CIA, and he had died being some rich French aristocrat, not the man she knew. Not Marcus Weiss.  
  
Once she had hailed a cab and was safely inside, she pulled off the blonde wig and diamonds that was Genevieve Martin. She emerged from the cab a different person, a real person. The blonde wig had not quite made her eyes shine like her naturally brown hair, and everyone who knew her would agree that Emily Francine Vaughn was natural, not like her many aliases.  
  
It scared her, sometimes, how she could morph into a totally different person with some simple adjustments.  
  
Emily had joined the CIA when she was 18, and was an operating field agent by her 19th birthday. Marcus had trained her, and she'd even been his roommate for a few months when that cushy government salary hadn't quite cut it. Mark introduced her to his father, Eric Weiss, who had been best friends with her father. She'd gotten to learn about Michael Vaughn, which had somehow driven her closer to her partner.  
  
Emily's delicate composure was almost shattered when she saw a feeble light under her suite door at the hotel. She backed away silently, trying not to let her heels click on the marble floor, tiptoeing until she reached the bitter France air outside. Digging out her cell phone as she walked, Emily dialed the familiar numbers that would offer her safety.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hey Dad, I need your help. I need you to send a team to extract Mark Weiss, and I need the location of a safe house in France."  
  
Michael noticed the hitch in her voice when she mentioned her partner, and tried to calm her. "Sweetheart, what happened?"  
  
"Some Spanish woman named Anna caught him, and I heard-I heard her shoot him. I-I managed to get away with the document, but-but someone was in my hotel room." Emily could not control her voice and had to rest her shaking legs at a nearby park bench.  
  
"Listen, I'm going to give you directions to a safe place to stay. When you get there, don't lie about your identity."  
  
Emily listened, puzzled, but mentally noted everything he said. The cab driver was less than pleased when she told him the destination, but relented when she showed him the francs she had withdrawn from a local ATM.  
  
Three cabs and four hours later, Emily stood in front of a small cottage somewhere in Normandy, France. She was still wearing that ridiculously tight dress and the stiletto heels were still strapped to her feet. She feverishly hoped that this person had a change of clothes, because she wasn't going to be able to stand those damn heels much longer.  
  
Although she felt a little guilty at interrupting someone's sleep at one in the morning, she banged loudly on the door. A light appeared, and a few minutes later the door opened to reveal an older woman, probably in her seventies, in a nightgown.  
  
She looked Emily up and down before asking in French, "What kind of person are you to knock at an old woman's door in the middle of the night?"  
  
Emily answered in her flawless accent, "A person seeking safety."  
  
The woman took a step closer. "Who are you?"  
  
"My name is Emily Vaughn. I was told I could find shelter here." Emily accidentally let some of her Canadian accent show through, causing the woman's curiosity to rise. She looked deep into Emily's eyes before a small smile crept over her mouth.  
  
"Yes, yes, I can see it now. You have the Vaughn eyes. Come in child, it's cold out here." She ushered Emily inside and pointed to an old couch. "There are blankets next to the couch. We'll talk in the morning." The woman disappeared into a back room, leaving Emily stranded in the dark. She yanked off the vulgar heels and wrapped herself in a snug quilt. Sleep claimed her quickly.  
  
It scared her, sometimes, what she could forget when she was tired. 


	2. A Warm Quilt

"Col chiques dans les prés fleurissent.  
  
Col chiques dans les prés, c'est la fin de l'ét.  
  
  
  
La feuille d'automne, emportée par le vent.  
  
En ronde monotone tombe en tourbillonnant  
  
  
  
Châtaignes dans le bois se fendent, se fendent,  
  
Châtaignes dans les bois se fendent sous les pas  
  
Nuages dans le ciel s'étirent, s'étirent,  
  
Nuages dans le ciel s'étirent, comme une aile  
  
  
  
Et ce chant dans mon coeur, murmure.  
  
Et ce chant dans mon coeur appelle bonheur"  
  
  
  
Emily slowly opened her eyes and glanced around the light drenched cottage. The woman's voice helped her rise from the depression that had claimed her in the night, and even brought a small smile to her lips. Her dad used to sing that song to help her sleep, and it had also been the first song she'd learned to play on the guitar. The woman was obviously close to her dad, and by the way she reacted to Emily's name, she was probably her grandmother.  
  
There were reasons they had never met; her dad had been scared he would be in danger. He also reasoned that she had accepted his death, and it would be hard for her to let that go.  
  
"Awake at last? I thought you'd sleep the day away," the woman sang out, causing Emily to jump slightly. She never understood how older people got up so early. Even with all her training, she could never set her internal clock. She always needed an outside intrusion to rouse her.  
  
Emily curled up tighter into the quilt she was wrapped in as the woman sat down on the far end of the couch. The stared at each other for a few moments before she spoke.  
  
"It's time for us to talk."  
  
Emily nodded slowly, and then asked her, "First, I need to know who you are."  
  
"My dear, why did you come to my home if you did not know who I was?" the woman asked with gentle curiosity.  
  
"I was in trouble, and someone I trust told me to come here. They said I would be safe, and that was all," Emily answered truthfully.  
  
"My name is Brigitte Delorme Vaughn."  
  
Emily smiled sadly. "I thought that's who you were. I don't know of any other relatives of mine that live in France."  
  
"You said your name was Emily Vaughn, so you are from William's side. But I don't know his family, and my only son is dead. So tell me child, who are you?"  
  
She couldn't think of words that would not break Brigitte's heart, so she just came out and said it.  
  
"Michael Vaughn is not dead. He is my father."  
  
Brigitte put her hand to her mouth and stared above Emily's head. She suddenly became angry, shaking a finger at Emily. "Don't tell me this. I know my son is dead. Do not fill my head with lies. Michel has been dead for nearly 20 years."  
  
Emily tried to calm the old woman. "There were reasons that you were told that. He was trying to protect you. and me," she added as an afterthought. "My mother's life was in danger and she was pregnant, so he went with her into the witness protection program. They made up the car accident. Papa wanted to protect you in case anyone tried to find out he was alive. And he wanted to protect us so that if someone did come asking, you couldn't reveal where we were. I was told you were dead until I was 16 and learned the truth about everything."  
  
Brigitte's eyes were filled with tears, and her finger had slowly lowered into her lap. She spoke quietly, almost a whisper, "Your mother was CIA?"  
  
"Yes. She was an undercover agent for the CIA. Papa was the person that gave her counter missions to the ones the bad agency would send her on. They fell in love, and Mama was discovered when she was two months pregnant with me. They went into hiding and we became a family."  
  
"That's why he would not settle," Brigitte whispered to herself.  
  
"My parents are still very much in love. They are soul mates, and they went through a lot to get where they are." Emily spoke with pride about their strength.  
  
"I've no doubt they did, considering their profession. I cried for weeks when I learned Michel was joining that death trap agency they call CIA. William was killed for his country, and I was convinced my baby boy had been murdered as well. You know, they never even found your grandfather's murderer? He is still running wild and it makes me sick." Brigitte's voice came out an angry hiss.  
  
Emily bowed her head, unable to hide the guilt she felt deep in her stomach. She whispered softly, hoping that Brigitte would not hear her, but at the same time wanting her to know. "They found her." She could not bring herself to look into her grandmother's eyes.  
  
Brigitte could sense the guilt emanating from her granddaughter. She firmly grabbed her chin and thrust it up. "What do you know?"  
  
Tears pricked Emily's eyes as she tried to explain. "In the seventies the KGB sent an agent into the United States. Her mission was to marry a CIA agent and give information to Russia. She also performed other tasks, and murdered 12 CIA agents, including William Vaughn. While on her mission, she had a child, and when she was extracted from the mission, she left her child behind. The father withdrew from the six-year-old girl, and she grew up without a father. When the girl turned nineteen, an agency claiming to be a part of the United States government offered her a job. She accepted and became a field agent that executed missions. She thought she was being patriotic until she told her fiancée the truth about what she did, and the agency had him killed. She learned the truth about that agency; they were not a part of the government, they were an enemy. The girl went to the real CIA and became a double agent. She was assigned a handler to give her counter missions. The agent's name was Michael Vaughn. They ended up taking down the agency, and thought they were safe. Two months later they found out they were not, and they went into hiding. They had a daughter, Emily Vaughn, who thought she had normal parents until two months after her sixteenth birthday. Her parents took her to Los Angeles and told her the truth. That her grandmother had killed her grandfather. And Emily realized how much forgiveness her parents had in them selves, because they forgave the sins of their parents, and forged a love stronger than any I've ever known." The tears had coursed their way down her cheeks and were slowly dripping from her chin. Brigitte's hand had moved from Emily's chin to her cheek, where she stroked it lovingly.  
  
"My dear, our families have intertwined in many different ways. I am proud of my son, that he can love so much that it overcomes this kind of catastrophe. And I am proud of you, that you are the product, the proof, that love can overcome anything. Never forget that," Brigitte murmured, her hand moving to Emily's disheveled hair. "But I have to know, what happened to that woman?"  
  
Emily sniffed and looked sadly at her grandmother. "She is in a high security prison, and is going to live out her days in a cell. She actually walked into the CIA by herself, without being threatened. She wanted to reconcile with her daughter, but Sydney Bristow wouldn't let her."  
  
"Your mother is a strong woman. I'm glad my Michel has found happiness with her."  
  
"She is strong, the strongest person I know besides my father. She has even worked through the problems with her father, so I know my grandfather. He lives near us and he and Mama are very close."  
  
Brigitte smiled, and then the night before came to her memory. She tugged at the quilt around Emily's shoulders to reveal the ridiculously tight dress that was still hiding the Rambaldi document. "And may I ask why you wear such an inappropriate dress on such a cold night?"  
  
"Lets just say I'm in the family business," Emily answered, hoping she wouldn't have to relive the night before. Brigitte caught the note of sadness in her vibrantly green eyes, and reached to take Emily's hand. When it was firmly in her grasp, she felt her fingers vibrating against her palm.  
  
"My dear, are you having a spasm in your hand?"  
  
Emily blushed and pulled her fingers away. "No, it's just something it does naturally. It's the only thing that gives me away when I'm undercover."  
  
Brigitte scowled, "And I ask you, why have you subjected yourself to that life? You must have known the sacrifices."  
  
Emily shrugged, not wanting to tell the real reason. "It runs in my veins. It called to me. And yes, I realized the sacrifices. I had to give up something I loved for the CIA."  
  
"Will you tell me what that was?"  
  
"A boy."  
  
Brigitte noted the darker eyeshade when Emily started to feel sad. "Why did you have to give up this boy?"  
  
The tears slipped down again, and Emily wiped them away with a trembling hand. "He didn't understand that I couldn't tell him everything about myself. He didn't understand that I had to keep some secrets. He wanted more than I could give him, so I let him go."  
  
"How special was this boy?"  
  
"Jonathon was my first love. He has been my only love, and I think I'll love him forever. Love just wasn't enough. I'll never forget the look on his face when I told him that I was leaving. It was sadness and hurt, mixed in with questions and longing."  
  
"You must love your country more than anything, to make a sacrifice like that."  
  
"I had to be fair to him. There was no other life for me. I was meant to be in the world of espionage, and I was going to be, whether he was beside me or not. And I couldn't ask him to expect less of me. So I left."  
  
She broke off for a moment, and then continued. "My mother didn't ask me why, she knew. She was disappointed that I couldn't make it work, but she understood."  
  
They stared at each other for a while before Brigitte wiped her cheeks, and then Emily's. "Enough tears. You will stay here for some time. I want to get to know my granddaughter. I have some clothes that will fit you, because there is no way you are walking around this village dressed like that. You can take a shower; it is in the back room. I will lay the clothes out for you." With that Brigitte patted Emily's cheeks. They both stood, and Emily unwrapped herself from the quilt, exposing her skin to the crisp morning air. It felt shocking and refreshing, just what she needed.  
  
***  
  
Brigitte was waiting for Emily to finish when she heard a gentle tapping on the backdoor. She opened it to reveal a young man in his twenties carrying a paper bag.  
  
"Brigitte, I have your groceries. I also noticed some gousse d'ail poking up in your garden. I'll go pick some today."  
  
"Ah, Andre! It is good to see you looking so healthy. Have you recovered enough to be picking garlic in my garden?"  
  
"Yes, yes, of course. How could I not with that wonderful throat medicine you made for me?"  
  
Brigitte blushed. "It is an old family recipe. I'm glad it still works."  
  
Andre grinned. "With your magic hands, how could it-" He was cut off by the sight of Emily Vaughn striding into the kitchen wearing some very complementing clothing. His grin faded into a look of admiration, quickly replaced by one of courtesy. "And may I ask who you might be?"  
  
"Emily Vaughn. I'm a great niece of Brigitte. I'll be staying here a few days." Emily quickly lied. No one else needed to know her father was still alive. As quick as the lie had come out, she was breathless. The man was clearly impressed by her, and that was flattering. Besides, the man was very hot. He smiled at her, and it almost made her weak in the knees. No one had this kind of impression on her. No one since Jonathon.  
  
"My name is Alexandre Dante, but I go by Andre." He slowly raised his hand to Emily, recognizing her as an American. Emily shook it firmly, and was shocked by the electricity she felt. Had they both thought aloud, their words would be exactly the same.  
  
This isn't happening. This can't happen.  
  
And, had they known each other's secrets, they would be thinking those thoughts for the same reasons.  
  
Neither of them was as they appeared.  
  
  
  
AN: How do you like? I've got some surprises in store for you all. And to tell you the truth, I really didn't like Jonathon as a character. He was just so. I don't know.not Emily's type. Feedback is greatly appreciated!  
  
*Duck 


	3. Welcome to Fleury

Emily lowered her hand and said softly, "Pleasure to meet you, Andre."  
  
Brigitte narrowed her eyes at the two young people standing before her. She knew sparks when she saw them fly, and these two were about to set a fire. She had only seen this kind of intensity once before, and she had been generating it. William had made her whole body tingle the first time her had touched her.  
  
Andre had been helping her out for some time. He would come over and tend to her garden, or get her groceries. He was a nice young man, and Brigitte loved him almost like a son. No one could have taken Michel's place, but this boy had been a fine substitute.  
  
And now she was shell shocked to learn that Michel was truly alive, and living quite happily, from what Emily had told her. But he had never called, never written. He had let her believe that her only son, her baby, had died for the god forsaken CIA that had killed his father.  
  
The goddamned agency had taken her granddaughter too, and Brigitte knew deep her heart that Emily would die as well. She often wondered what it was that attracted the Vaughn family to the CIA. It was a curse, a curse that she was helpless to break.  
  
But Michel was alive. He was married to a woman that was CIA, and they had a daughter that was CIA.  
  
And there was only one thing that truly made her sick. Thinking of it made bile burn her throat and threaten to suffocate her. Michel had married the spawn of the devil. The devil that had killed her beloved William.  
  
She would never let anyone know how she felt, no; she was smarter than that. Michel apparently loved that woman more than anything, and voicing her opinions now would get her nowhere. But it still pained her to think that Emily had inherited traits of a vicious murderer, a woman that still haunted Brigitte's dreams.  
  
Brigitte masked her emotions quickly, and took Emily by the arm. "Why don't you help Andre in the garden while I make us some breakfast? The morning air will do you good." She practically pushed Emily outside, Andre following in their wake. Emily was a good person, and she deserved to be with someone like Andre, Brigitte reasoned. Shutting the door behind her, she glanced out the window to see Andre leading the way towards her garden. She smiled to herself, and then began to prepare breakfast.  
  
***  
  
Andre led the way towards Brigitte's well-tended garden, with Emily trailing. It was a pleasant morning, and as they traveled through the carefully manicured path, Emily was bombarded with a variety of scents. The roses to her left almost shimmered perfume, which mingled with the sharp aroma of rosemary that was growing to her right.  
  
Andre stopped her by a section of plants that grew in straight lines. Emily looked at him curiously, having no idea why they stopped. He bent down and grabbed a plant firmly by its base. He tugged slightly, uprooting gousse d'ail, or garlic to Emily, and released a pungent odor. He looked up at Emily expectantly, and she stared back.  
  
"I have never gardened before in my life," she admitted somewhat reluctantly. Bending down all day in dirt had never appealed to her, and Sydney had agreed with her. All of the outside work was left to her father, who took it with an exuberance neither woman had ever understood.  
  
Andre chuckled at her expression before handing her the stinking garlic. He spoke quietly, although loud enough for Emily to hear. "I always try to learn something new everyday. Here's your chance." He continued to pull the bulbs from the clinging earth and handed each bulb to Emily, who loaded up her arms. After a few moments he spoke again, desperately feeling the need to know more about her.  
  
"Have you ever visited Brigitte before?"  
  
Emily took the question seriously, contemplating possible answers that would not result in more questions. None did. "No, but I have wanted to meet her for a long time."  
  
Andre nodded to the ground. "She is quite a remarkable woman. Did you say you were from her husband's side?"  
  
"Yes, and I wish I would have gotten the chance to meet him. He seemed like such a good man. Does Brigitte ever speak of him?"  
  
He moved to another bulb. "Yes, quite often. My favorite stories though, are the ones of her son, Michel. She misses him very much."  
  
Emily smiled thinly, feeling a pang of guilt. "Yes, she would. I've heard that he was very extraordinary."  
  
"Maybe, but foolhardy. He practically signed his death warrant the day he joined the American CIA."  
  
A blush crept up Emily's cheeks, and she found herself defending her agency. "The CIA is not a death trap, as most people think. I think it's a good thing, people defending their country from spies."  
  
"As you would. You are American, as I presume?"  
  
Even though Emily had spent the majority of her years a Canadian citizen, she considered herself American. "Yes. Was it that obvious?"  
  
"To me it was. Your accent threw me off a bit though. It is not the usual French accent most Americans adopt. And you speak the language quite well, I might add."  
  
Once again Emily felt heat on her face. She was use to people complementing on her ability to speak different languages, but for some reason Andre's actually meant something to her. She'd never had this kind of reaction to anyone before.  
  
"Thank you. My father speaks French, and I learned it as I learned English."  
  
Andre stood and brushed the dirt from his hands. He looked deep in Emily's eyes and studied them for a few moments.  
  
"I see what she means now," Andre commented solemnly before taking some of the pungent bulbs from Emily's arms. Emily stared at his retreating back in confusion before following him down the path.  
  
"See what?" Emily asked impatiently when he gave no signs of continuing.  
  
"Brigitte always told me the Vaughn eyes were breathtaking and dangerously hypnotic. She claims its what drew her to William in the first place. Sparkling emeralds, I think, is the term she used."  
  
Emily smiled shyly to herself, thanking her dad for such a wonderful gift.  
  
Before they reached the back door of the cottage, Emily spoke out suddenly, causing Andre to jump. "To-sia"  
  
Andre looked at her, eyebrows raised. She looked at the ground before smiling slightly.  
  
"It means thank you in Taiwanese. You said you tried to learn something new everyday."  
  
  
  
***  
  
Brigitte had made an excellent breakfast, and almost as soon as they finished she sent the two young adults on another errand.  
  
"Andre, Emily, would you mind picking up some tarragon from Sofia Outten? I'm out and I'll need some for le dîner tonight." And before either could speak a word she had them out the door, stumbling onto the path that led towards the heart of the village.  
  
"Somehow I got the feeling she was trying to get rid of us," Andre commented dryly as he walked towards a nearby cottage.  
  
Emily laughed, Andre joining her shortly after. He looked at her, eyes sparkling. "Your laugh is contagious."  
  
Her grin stayed on her lips until they reached Mrs. Sofia Outten's door, upon which Andre knocked several times. A plump woman with bright blue eyes answered, and nearly burst with delight when she saw who was at her door.  
  
"Andre! You look so much better than when I saw you last! Are you well enough to be walking around, and without a coat no less!" She patted Andre's cheek while she spoke, and noticed Emily only after she had finished scolding him. "And who is this? Have you finally found someone to settle down with, my dear?"  
  
Emily blushed scarlet and felt her fingers vibrating like mad. Andre smiled from her embarrassment before introducing her. "No, Sofia. This is Brigitte Vaughn's great niece, Emily. We are running some errands for her."  
  
Sofia looked Emily over critically before staring into her emerald irises. "Yes, yes, you have the eyes. Exactly like William and Michel. Judging by that I would assume you are from the Vaughn side. Am I correct?"  
  
Emily smiled softly. "Yes."  
  
Sofia pulled her into a comforting hug before patting her cheek. "Then you are practically family to me! I have known Brigitte for my whole life, and she is like a sister. And on the whole village's behalf, I welcome you to Fleury."  
  
They talked to Sofia for an hour, and during that time Emily noticed something a bit unnerving. She had been carefully watching Andre, without being obvious, and was surprised to hear an Irish accent slip into his French. It only happened once, and after time Emily began to think she had imagined it. He didn't seem to notice at all, and made no sign of correcting his voice.  
  
After bringing Brigitte the tarragon, she shooed them out once more, leaving Andre and Emily outside the small cottage. Emily spent the afternoon learning about plants and herbs, along with the well-kept secrets of gardening. She noticed whenever Andre touched her hands to show her something; she felt a small shock and tingly sensation where he had touched her. They both ignored the obvious connection and gardened well into the evening. It was only when Brigitte called for dinner did they return, filthy, and in Emily's case, sunburned. Andre left soon after and Emily felt the loss of his presence greatly, which troubled her.  
  
Once Brigitte had gone to bed, Emily recovered the tight dress that concealed the Rambaldi document. Brushing her fingers lightly over the aged parchment, Emily read the complex code of Rambaldi's writing. It had almost become another language to her, reading as easily as if the paper only contained Taiwanese. Somehow none of the analysts at the CIA possessed her skill of deciphering Rambaldi's words without some sort of code. The oldest and most arrogant of the analysts claimed that Rambaldi favored her family, and the only reason she could read his works without help was because he had made such a vulgar prophecy of her grandmother. They said it was a condolence gift.  
  
Emily agreed somewhat, although she wouldn't have used the term "favored." Linked maybe, but definitely not favored. And from the words he wrote about her grandmother, she knew Rambaldi did not favor her genealogy, but perhaps he had been connected to them.  
  
As Emily translated, a quivering excitement ran throughout the length of her spine. This parchment, the one she had long searched for, held the location of yet another of his numerous caves. The directions gave no hint of what was inside, but there was a warning of truth and darkness held within its walls. And somehow, she wasn't surprised to find that directions on that crumbling piece of paper led to a place barely two hours walk from where Emily was sitting.  
  
"That man knew more about me than myself," she muttered, replacing the parchment back in the lining of her dress. After hiding it under the couch, she sank down into the overstuffed cushions and tried to relax. Martial arts and CIA training had taught her ways to get all the benefits of sleep without taking up the time, and she exercised her training to the full extent. If she intended to walk two hours on the rough French plain, she was going to need all the energy she could get.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
"Grand-maman, I need to take a walk by myself. There are some things I need to think over," Emily spoke quietly, wanting to begin her journey quickly. Brigitte nodded to her, smiling foolishly. It was something she had always wanted, to be a grandmother, and it filled her with pride to have such a strong and beautiful granddaughter.  
  
"Sois prudente, ma chérie."  
  
Emily smiled and nodded in reply. "Always. I'll be back in a few hours."  
  
She had searched around Brigitte's garden shed the previous day, so Emily was equipped with a flashlight, a small shovel, and ropes, as well as water she had bottled. The going was slow, and after an hour had passed she got a tingly feeling down her spine, telling her that she was being watched. The landscape was bumpy, so Emily could not be sure she was alone, but whoever was following her did not make an appearance, so she dismissed it.  
  
An hour later she was rewarded by the sight of twin hills, nestled together and protected by two trees that seemed to beckon to her. Emily climbed to a point where the hills sloped together and scraped with the shovel. The blade soon struck rock, and Emily cleared mounds of dirt to reveal the Rambaldi eye. Prying the shovel around the edges of the circular rock, she dislodged it with a few pushes. A gaping hole went straight into the ground, and Emily could detect a well-secured ladder hanging from the opening. She left all her supplies outside, swung both legs into the hole, and eased herself down onto the ancient rungs. She descended several minutes, and just when the light became scarce did her feet touch the earth.  
  
The foolishness of leaving her flashlight outside hit Emily suddenly, causing her to turn around and begin to climb the ladder back to the surface. After pulling herself up a few rungs, something struck her hard, and she fell to the bottom of the cave.  
  
She felt metal puncture her skin, which was followed by a slight stinging sensation. It quickly gained intensity, until it was burning trails throughout her veins. Helpless to stop the poison coursing, Emily felt it blazing a path to her heart. As the world became dimmer, she heard a gunshot echo, shaking the ground that was slowly swallowing her.  
  
Then darkness.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: I hope you guys like this chapter, because it took me forever to write! I know its been a long time since I updated, but I wanted to make sure it was good. Reviews would be most welcome, and I want to know what you guys think about Andre. I got a couple surprises hidden up my sleeve concerning him. :-)  
  
*Duck  
  
ps. Wanted to thank Amy for brainstorming with me. Don't know where I'd be without her help.  
  
Also thanks to Twinnie. You're absolutely right. Automatic translators don't work, but I don't know anyone who speaks French.  
  
-Sorry it's taking me forever to update, but I have finals, so it may be awhile. As soon as they've fried my brain, I promise I'll finish it! 


	4. Heir

Andre had a copious amount of secrets, but unlike most in his position, he didn't consider them dangerous. His identity was one of his deepest and best kept secret, and one he would keep until called upon to do otherwise. So, for now, he was Alexandre Dante, a young Frenchman that had inherited his uncle's old farmhouse. The "uncle" in question had built up an astonishing library, from which Andre loaned out dusty volumes to villagers. None of the fiercely French natives had questioned his background, and he had meticulously hidden his native accent.  
  
The whole reason he was in Fleury to begin with was another one of his secrets, but there was a purpose, a mission if you prefer. It was not dangerous, nor difficult, but time consuming. In fact, in the year that he had been there, Andre had come to love the directives. It was simple; he cared for Brigitte Vaughn and made sure no harm came to her. It had been a success from the start, and he had developed a genuine affection for the woman. As the year passed, Brigitte became the grandmother he never knew. Bringing groceries, tending to her garden, and bringing an occasional book had turned into a daily ritual, one he thoroughly enjoyed.  
  
And when he was completely at ease, something twisted him around and made everything spin out of control.  
  
Apparently Brigitte had a great niece she had never mentioned.  
  
Emily Vaughn.  
  
Being so close to her in the garden had been excruciating, holding back the desire to find out everything about her. When he looked into her eyes, he knew what Brigitte had rambled on and on about.  
  
The Vaughn eyes.  
  
He had commented quietly, and was pleased to see her fluster. He felt equally reddened when she spoke to him in Taiwanese. It had surprised him in two ways; that she listened so carefully, and that she actually spoke the language.  
  
Not many Americans knew Taiwanese. Not many people in the world knew Taiwanese, which led Andre to thinking about Emily. If Brigitte had any relatives his age that were female, and as beautiful as Emily was, he would have heard about them. Brigitte was always trying to set him up with a girl from the village, and would have been delighted to welcome Andre into her family. Things just weren't adding up.  
  
So he decided to watch her.  
  
It had surprised him greatly when she set off in the hilly French terrain loaded with water and digging tools. His surprise did not stop him from following her, but it did make him forget the supplies he would need to comfortably pursue her. The two hours in tracking were long and brutal to his body, but he kept himself fresh by stalking her with as much stealth as he was trained to have.  
  
When she stopped he circled around to watch her dig. An aura of excitement seemed to flow from her labor and Andre was so enraptured he failed to notice another presence. He did become worried when she slipped into the hole she had created and took the risk of hiding closer. It was as he was moving that he saw a woman jump into the cave, gun drawn. All reasonable thought left as he sprinted and practically dove into the gaping abyss in the hillside. He landed with a resounding thud, nearly knocking all the breath out of him. The sound of a bullet whizzing over his head was enough shot to get him on his feet, and then something else took over. Blood pounded in his head and everything went blurry as he robbed the woman of her gun and killed her. The reaction was not one he was used to, and certainly not one he liked. The world went darker as his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed, falling next to the still forms of two women.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Andre blinked his eyes, hoping for some form of light to ensure he hadn't gone blind. Waiting for the pounding in his head to subside he glanced around to find a small ray of sunlight coming from a small opening above him. It took a few moments for him to realize he wasn't the only person in the cave. He rolled to his right and found a black woman with a bullet hole in her forehead. Shuddering, he turned to his right and found Emily, still unconscious.  
  
Her pulse was weak, but it was still there. The woman's corpse was already starting to give an odor that made Andre's stomach convulse erratically. Weakly he gathered Emily into his arms and staggered deeper into the darkness, away from the smell of death, and away from the light. When he could go no farther he slumped down and attempted to lay her still form on the ground, but she held tight to his shirt, muttering, "Don't leave me now"  
  
He held her in his arms, trying to soothe her shaking body, feebly trying to identify the drug that had been injected into her veins. The shaking stopped, but it only let something worse replace it.  
  
Emily's voice became stiff and formal. Her spine seemed to straighten and the words were almost spat out. "The woman here depicted will possess unseen marks. Signs that she will be the one to bring forth my works, bind them with fury; a burning anger. Unless prevented, at vulgar cost, this woman will render the greatest power unto utter desolation. This woman, without pretense, will have had her effect, never having seen the beauty of my sky, behind Mount Subasio. Perhaps a single glance would have quelled her fire."  
  
Andre's head jerked as he heard the familiar words. They had been read to him during training, and had been told very few people in the world knew of Rambaldi's prophecy. He had not been allowed to view the actual text or even glance at the parchment that contained the words, but was aware of a sketch.  
  
Her spine relaxed, and she snuggled into Andre's arms, head in the crook of his neck. They were both surprisingly comfortable, given their surroundings. A few minutes passed before Emily spoke again, still in a hallucinatory state. "Can I learn how to play a guitar?"  
  
She continued in this manner for an hour, reliving different scenes from her life.  
  
"Mmm .. Don't harm the ice cream .. It never did anything to you."  
  
"I've taken into account what you've told me, but I still want to join."  
  
"This isn't working. I have to leave, before we tear apart each other's hearts."  
  
"I swear you read my mind. I'm going to start calling you Miss Cleo."  
  
"Can I stay with you for a while? My landlord just kicked me out."  
  
"So I can read what he writes, so what? I bet lots of people can do it."  
  
"No. I will not talk to her. I don't care if she knows where my uncle is. I'm not speaking with Irina Derevko."  
  
"Where the hell are you?"  
  
"Hey Dad, I need your help."  
  
"My name is Emily Vaughn. I was told I could find shelter here."  
  
With that last statement, Andre felt hot tears slide down his neck and drip onto his tightly gripped shirt. She was clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping her alive, and when she began shuddering again he felt the overwhelming urge to protect her at all costs. He was contemplating ways to get Emily out of the abyss they were swallowed in, when a memory of his own rose to the surface.  
  
And then it hit him.  
  
Why Emily looked so familiar. Where he had seen her facial features and the grace the seemed to flow from her.  
  
There had been a large painting over a fireplace where Andre lived. He had always loved to curl up with a Russian novel in front of a well-lit fire. Often he would gaze at the work of art before him, and wonder at the woman depicted. She had an aura of light around her, creating the sense of peace. Her beauty flowed, and he had memorized the sight. Right before he was assigned to France, he had asked whom she was, that woman in the painting. He had gotten no response, and left without knowing.  
  
It wasn't Emily. The woman had brown eyes, not Emily's sparkling emeralds. But it still left him unsettled, and slightly suspicious. Her words came back to him, and he let them drift in the air, one in particular catching his attention.  
  
"This isn't working. I have to leave, before we tear apart each other's hearts."  
  
So she had loved and lost. Hadn't everybody? Andre had known the feeling of losing before he turned five. He lost everything on his ninth birthday. And somehow, he gained some back. He, out of a thousand other boys, had been chosen from the dank orphanage. He was lavished with education and the companionship he so desperately needed. His world had been righted.  
  
A fatherly figure had nurtured him, and Andre always had the feeling he was a replacement, a substitute for something the man had lost. Emily's hoarse whisper brought him crashing back to reality.  
  
"Why me?"  
  
He held her closer, trying to block her from whatever she was experiencing. The drug that had been shot into her had hallucinatory effects, he was sure of that. That woman wanted to cause her immense pain. The roughness of the cave wall was starting to wear through his thin shirt, reminding him exactly where he was, a cave. Even with his limited geology expertise, Andre knew caves were very rare in France. So rare in fact, he hadn't even heard of one.  
  
Suddenly Emily wrenched herself from his embrace, and staggered deeper into the darkness. Andre couldn't see his own hand, let alone where Emily was going, but he followed in her direction. Stumbling over rocks and often running into the dirt walls, he blindly tried to find Emily. His head hit something hard, and once again his mind went dangerously blank.  
  
***  
  
"Emily, wake up," a voice crooned softly, startling Emily from the haze that surrounded her.  
  
"What the hell?" She muttered groggily, fingers massaging her temples. Everything was blurry and misty. A soft light beckoned her forward, revealing a large manuscript. The eye of Rambaldi was etched onto the cover, as well as an inscription.  
  
'To my heir, may she find her truths in these words'  
  
"Heir?" Emily whispered, confused, "He had a heir?"  
  
Opening the cover carefully, she glanced over his intricate code. The translation came to her naturally, and faster than it ever had before.  
  
'Only the one whom I entrust with all my secrets shall read these words. May she use them wisely.'  
  
Emily's bloodshot eyes poured over the ancient page, widening as she took in Rambaldi's words.  
  
"Holy shit."  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Sorry it took me so long, I just took midterms, and I swear my brain was gone for a week. But at least I passed them all! *Duck 


	5. Removing the Veil

_'Shall you see as I have, and use these visions not with your anger. You, my heir, posses not my blood, but my spirit.'_

'To you I pass my gift, my curse. In hope that you can do good, I grant you inheritance of a sight beheld by no other.'

_'There is an event you must experience in order to receive my gift. That you experience love, as I have never known. May my curse not render you desolate, but loved, and give you something to sleep to'_

Emily gaped over the script, read it again, and gaped some more. A sizzling noise caught her attention, and she watched helplessly as the whole text disintegrated. Running her fingers through the remains, Emily let the words return to her, and tried to make sense of it. 

_She_ was Rambaldi's heir. 

Rambaldi was giving _her_ his gift of prophecy. 

Rubbing her temples to rid herself of a throbbing headache, Emily muttered, "Why does he always mess with my head?"

The light that had emanated from the walls started to fade, leaving her stranded in darkness. A shroud was pulled over her consciousness, letting her collapse onto the dirt. When she awoke, she was not alone. 

***

Andre had somehow blacked out to awake holding Emily. He held her tightly, clasping his hands around her frame. She was shaking again, and whispering in his ear. "I need something to sleep to."

  
His lips brushed Emily's earlobes, sending shivers down her spine. "Just hold onto me. We're getting out of here now." Once again he stood with her in his arms, and stumbled down the pitch-black tunnel, heading to where the light was. The distance seemed shorter and easier to travel by, and Andre's strength doubled as he saw the light growing stronger.

  
Emily gasped when she saw Anna Espinoza's mangled body, but Andre pressed her head into his chest to block the sight. 

  
When they reached the ladder he set her down lightly, keeping his eyes locked on hers. Caressing her chin with his index finger, Andre kept Emily focused on him, and he whispered to her, "You go up first. I'll be right behind you if you fall."

  
She nodded into his hand and slowly turned to put her foot on the first rung. Pushing and pulling she managed to lever herself over the edge and collapsed onto the firm ground. Andre followed soon after, panting and struggling for air. Together they blocked the opening with the enormous boulder, enclosing Anna in her tomb.   
  


Andre leaned against the boulder in an attempt to regulate his breathing. After a few minutes he succeeded, raising his eyes to Emily's. Glowing brightly, the rings of emerald entranced him. He shook his head to clear the fog. 

  
"Emily-" Silenced and bewildered by her finger touching his lips, Andre sensed a change in the woman standing before him. A myriad of emotions flashed across her features and she closed the distance between them. Andre felt his breath becoming shallow as Emily's lips touched his. 

It was sweet and innocent and pure and Andre had never experienced anything like it. The kiss ended abruptly as Emily pulled away, leaving Andre feeling lightheaded. They stared at each in other in a state of shock before Emily bowed her head to examine the ground. 

"Thank you," she whispered to her feet, still tantalizing close to Andre, giving him an overwhelming urge to kiss her again. Her gaze met his once again, but this time Andre could not read her, giving him a sense he had imagined it all. 

Her voice cut across him, cold. "What were you doing?"

Feigning innocence that didn't fool her at all, he responded, " What do you mean?"

Emily glanced around, checking for anyone listening. "We need to get out of here, and go somewhere quiet. You and I have things to discuss."

Andre nodded numbly at her. He felt as if he were looking at someone else, not the woman he had spent hours in a cave with. 

Emily walked quickly down the hills and led Andre a few miles east of the cave. She had no idea where she was going, but stopped when the came upon a small cow pond. Beckoning him to join her, Emily settled herself among the towering reeds at the pond's edge. 

Andre sat across from her in a sort of trance. He had held suspicions of her before, but nothing like this. Who was she? Why was she there? Was she really related to Brigitte?

"I need you to tell me who you are," Emily commanded, staring icily at him. 

Andre felt unnerved, but refused to show it. "Alexandre Dante."

"You're lying." Emily had spent a year learning the human body language. It was a special interest of hers, and one of her strongest weapons. She had made herself learn how to be a human lie detector. The skill was something she could turn off, and she hadn't been testing Andre. Now it was obvious to her that he was someone other than he claimed. 

Andre stared at her, the foolishness of starting to fall for her hitting him with full force. "How do I know that you're not some spy trying to kill me or Brigitte?"

Emily smiled thinly at his accusation and mistake. "Why would anyone try to kill you? You're supposed to be a village bookkeeper. Not a likely target."

"You don't answer a question with a question, which tells me you don't want to answer my question. Which, in my mind, makes you a spy," Andre countered, trying to gain control. 

"I am an agent of the United States Central Intelligence Agency," Emily shot back, taking him completely by surprise. Andre had expected denial. 

"Wh-what?"

Emily's smile was replaced by a smirk. He had clearly not expected that. Besides, he had let the Irish accent slip again, confirming her suspicions. "I'm CIA, and I want to know who you are." 

Andre cursed his greenness; after all, this was his first mission. Interrogation and torture resistance had been omitted from his training, because it was something you 'learn from experience'. 

Emily waited patiently, reading all of Andre's emotions. Frustration was the obvious one, which led her to believe he was new, a rookie. She herself was one, but had been slowly trained her whole life. She had spent her year at Clandestine Service Training learning how to read people and the use of weapons. Excelling in the other areas made her a favorite, and allowed her to be one of the youngest active field agents. 

Andre looked at Emily, and really saw her for the first time. It made him lose the resolve not to reveal anything, and allowing his native accent to return, Andre answered calmly, "My name is Ian McGinty."

A/N: Whew! I know it's taken me forever, but I have to imagine out each scene in my head, and I just couldn't get Rambaldi's words to come out right. You can thank my Geometry teacher, because if it weren't for that class, I'd never get this thing done! I'm also just learning how to work the italics stuff like that, so bear with me. 

*Duck

P.S. Has anyone else seen the action figures they came out with? Yowza, Syd doll is sort of popping out of her clothing. And Action!Vaughn doll? With the leather jacket? Totally hot. 


	6. Losing Affection

Emily stared at him in a slight daze. Shaking her head softly, she allowed herself a sliver of satisfaction. He _was_ Irish. 

"So what are you doing here?" She asked, her voice cold. It was easier for her to control the tone her voice emitted. 

"I'm taking care of Brigitte. That's it," Ian responded, relishing the feeling of the native accent on his tongue. 

"Since you're obviously trained, I'm not going to waste my time asking who sent you, but I do want to know why someone feels that Brigitte needs protection."

"Not protection. Care. I'm keeping her comfortable." Ian was starting to get annoyed. "But I could ask you the same question. No one just shows up uninvited on their great-aunts doorstep. You're obviously related, but Brigitte never mentioned you. Not once," he accused, voice rising slightly. 

Emily sighed, frustrated. He was passing her lie tests, but she could never be 100% sure. "She didn't know I was alive. There were reasons, but none I'm willing to disclose. As for the showing up part, that was a mission gone bad. My partner was killed and if I'm not mistaken, the woman in the cave was the one who killed him. I needed a place to run, so I came here."

Ian sat still, absorbing the fact that Emily did dangerous things for a living. He was also surprised that she would reveal that much. For all she knew, he could be making it all up. "Can I ask why you joined the CIA? I'm repaying a debt, and its difficult to understand why you would volunteer your life so willingly," he questioned. 

Emily glanced at him sharply; he had just admitted he wasn't there by choice. He was definitely new at this. "Let's just say its in my blood."

"Blood? You never met William or Michael—" Ian stopped mid-sentence, the truth dawning on him. "Michael's not dead, is he?"

Dodging the question, Emily changed the subject abruptly. "Why are you in debt?"

The change was not lost on him, but Ian answered the question anyway. "When I was nine, my family was killed in a train accident. I was among six survivors of three hundred. My parents had been disowned for their love, and none of my relatives would take me in. I was put into an orphanage for two years until I was taken. I was never formally adopted, but my mentor cared for me like an uncle. He educated me to the fullest extent, and when I turned 21, he told me my education was complete. He asked me for a favor and I readily agreed. My family taught me to repay my debts, and I would not shame my family's teachings."

Emily felt a stirring in her heart, reaching out to the young man who had lost so early in life. The first time she had been introduced to death she had been ten, when Donovan died. She was used to it now; she had to be. Being shocked by death could get her killed. Ian had only been nine when everything was taken away. 

Allowing her gaze to linger on his arms, it was hard for her to imagine that they had held her only minutes before. She had only once felt that safe, before she knew about her parent's past. Her heart was pounding loudly now, trying to tell her something, trying to warn her. She ignored it. 

"You don't need to tell her why you're here. She loves you as a grandson, and it would break her heart to know the truth. What we said today, what was revealed, stays here," she ordered, with the feeling of giving a mission. "Just promise me that you love her as well."

Ian smiled thinly at her verdict. "I do. She reminds me of my own grandmother, which is probably why I allowed myself to get so attached."

The walk back to the cottage was long, but made easier by the company they gave each other. Within a few feet, Emily felt her heart drop into her stomach. Ian noticed her stop, and was frightened by the look on her face. "What is it?"

"Something's not right, I can feel it."

Running ahead, with Ian close behind her, she opened the back door to the cottage and gasped in horror. 

***

"Oh my god. Brigitte?" Emily rushed to the fallen woman, checking her pulse. Looking up to Ian's somber eyes, she whispered, "She's still alive, but barely."

Without a word Ian bent down and cradled Brigitte in his arms. He walked slowly out of the kitchen to deposit her gently on the bed. He left her swiftly, accidentally bumping into Emily who had come up behind him. 

"Where are you going?" Emily asked, anger flashing. 

"To get a doctor. She needs help," he answered, soothing her. He strode past, leaving Emily to gather blankets around Brigitte.  

"Please don't die, Grandmere. You have to see Dad. You have to see Michel."

At her son's name, Brigitte stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open, viewing Emily sadly. Reaching weakly for Emily's hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze. "I have seen Michel, and in my heart he died a long time ago. The person I wanted to meet was you, and I'm glad that I have. I've always wanted a granddaughter, and Michel has granted my wish. My time is near, child, I have felt it all week. I asked God to let me live long enough to witness a miracle, and I feel that I have. You are it, Emily Francine Vaughn, my granddaughter. Don't cry, mon cherie. I have lived a long life," Brigitte rasped, her breathing shallow. Emily knelt beside the bed, hand still clasped in the frail fingers of her grandmother. 

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched the only grandmother she knew lose hold on life. 

"Grandmere, we've barely gotten to know each other. Please don't leave me now," Emily whispered. Her plea went unheard, because Brigitte Miette Delorme Vaughn had already left her body behind. 

When the realization came, Emily began to sob, holding Brigitte's hand to her heart. Strong arms encircled her, pulling Emily from her grandmother's clasp. They turned her around, and she let her emotions flood out, placing her head upon Ian's chest. 

An older man viewed the scene with extreme sadness; he'd known Brigitte his entire adult life, caring for her children when they were sick. They had not been fast enough, but he knew even if the boy owned a sports car, Brigitte would have been gone fore they got there. His only comfort was the knowledge she had not been alone in her passing. Shifting his gaze to the two people before him, he noticed the way Andre was trying to soothe her pain, and the way the girl was letting him. He had never seen her before, but the anguish she was displaying meant she had known Brigitte and loved her. Her cries did not subside as he left the small cottage, and he wondered whom she was, to react like that. 

How long they stood there, wrapped in each other, neither could be sure. Ian succumbed to his grief shortly after Emily, tears streaming down his cheeks to drip onto silky brown hair. When Emily finally calmed it took her a few moments to realize where she was; tightly held in Ian's arms. 

***

A succession of mourners in black made their way towards the simple graveyard behind the small village church. Each face was streaked with tears and salt and each were a mask of sadness. Two figures stood supporting each other, their despair even greater than the villagers. 

Michael Vaughn had long ago accepted that he would never see his mother or visit his boyhood home, so it was difficult for him to return. To protect themselves, he and Sydney traveled with aliases and disguises, but he could not dampen the emotions coursing through him as he attended his mother's funeral. Sydney, veil across her face, stood next to him, hand held tightly by his. Their daughter stood ahead, supported by a young man unknown to her parents. Tears ran down his cheeks unchecked, leaving stains on the black suit he wore. One of the last to pay respects, he touched the smooth wood and spoke softly, asking forgiveness. 

Emily and Ian stood apart from everyone else, trying not to lose control. In the past week they used each other for comfort, and left the questions hanging in the air. 

The funeral over, Ian knew he had to leave. No word had been sent as to the details of his extraction, but he felt his mentor's presence all day. Supporting Emily distracted him from seeking him out, but now, with the funeral over, Ian tried to say goodbye. 

"Emily, I have no reason to be here anymore, and neither do you. You have to get back to the—your job, and I will probably receive another assignment," he stated simply, looking into her bloodshot eyes. "It's hard to think that you'll be off saving the world, but I know you love it, and I have no doubt that you're good at it. I hope to god that we're never on opposite sides, but if we are, know that it's not entirely my choice. I have a debt to pay."

Emily felt a tugging at her chest,, but fought the feelings his words evoked. Instead of responding she could only nod and squeeze his hand. She let go quickly and left him to join her parents. Brigitte, not knowing her family lived, left everything she owned in possession of the village church. That left nothing for the Vaughn's to do, so their plane left only a few hours after the service. 

A cab awaited the three, Emily climbing between her parents and allowing them to comfort her, in the way only parents know how. Within an hour she cried herself to sleep.

***

Ian stood alone, a void growing in his mind until he was numb.   He had only allowed himself to reach that point of seclusion once before, when his family died. His mentor's voice cut through the barrier, bringing him down, back to the pain. 

"I hadn't realized you allowed yourself to get so attached. Although, I can't say I blame you. She was a remarkable woman. I'm sorry she passed." As the man spoke a reassuring hand gripped Ian's shoulder, comforting him. 

"Andrew, why did you send me to care for her?"

Andrew looked solemnly at the downtrodden young man, and gave him a tight smile. "I never told you that I have a sister. A remarkable woman, but also a tad foolish. You see, she lived a dangerous life, had a forbidden love, a love that could've gotten her killed.  They eventually did die, leaving their family alone. Brigitte lost her son, leaving no one to care for her. I take care of my family." He left Ian, eyes wide, to talk to his driver. 

It was fitting at that time the sky decided to crack, letting raindrops splash onto the freshly dug ground. Ian allowed himself to be soaked, not even noticing the darkened sky or distant boom of thunder. The fact that Andrew was Emily's uncle left his head spinning. Ian had always felt that he was a replacement for someone his mentor had lost. Now he knew, and it would have almost struck him as humorous,  had he not been so heartbroken. He lost two people that day; a grandmother he had come to love, and someone that had managed to steal a part of his heart. Ian knew, deep down, he would never see Emily again, and it killed him. 

To fall in love in such a short amount of time boggled him, but it was the truth. Although it didn't matter anymore. Emily was gone to the CIA, and he was back under Andrew's wing, awaiting another "favor". _No_, he told himself, _it didn't matter._

He would spend the next few weeks trying to convince himself that his affection for Emily Vaughn did not, and would never matter. 

It didn't work. 

A/N: Phew! I'm sorry it took so long for me to update, but I had the hardest time writing this chapter! Don't hurt me, please, I loved Brigitte too. After this, there's one more chapter and then an epilogue. Getting close to the end!

*Duck


	7. You Have Me

Ian stared out the villa window to the glittering pool below, entranced by the black ripples that the wind created. A gloom settled over him the moment he stepped onto the jet to go to home. He had been more or less raised in the Italian villa, and considered it his home. The past week he spent pouring over books, trying to block out the sadness that seemed to consume him. He wished that he were brave enough to drink so he could forget the past year, but liquor frightened him. 

A loud lap on the door jerked him out of a trance the blackened water had created. The door opened, revealing Andrew in a very sober mood. Ian continued to stare out the window, not in the mood for talk. 

"Ian, I would like you to do me a favor."

Sighing inaudibly, Ian turned to face his mentor. "Yes?"

"I need you to deliver a message to someone. You'll meet them at a club in France tomorrow night. All you have to do is give them an envelope."

Looking worried, he asked, "How will I know who to give it to?"

Andrew smiled at the nervous young man. "You'll know." Patting his shoulder reassuringly, he left Ian to return to his trance-like state. It would be his second favor/mission, and Ian did not feel the same surge of pride. Instead, it was a sort of foreboding. 

Hopefully, with something to do, he could finally lose the demons that haunted his every waking moment.

***

Emily slouched on her desk; fervently hoping the headache at the base of her skull would not continue to gain intensity. After spending a week in Canada she returned to LA, still not over the loss of Brigitte. _It was just Brigitte_, she told herself, _I don't miss him_

The work had stacked in messy piles around her small desk, making Emily wish she had stayed in Canada. 

Being home had been good for her spirit and made her relax. The only time she felt unease was at night, when she was haunted by images of him and the words of Rambaldi. She'd wake up, soaked with a cold and clammy sweat, reaching across the bed. Her arms always came up empty, which, even though she had never slept with him, disappointed her. 

Mornings were a relief, filled with her father's pancakes and maple syrup. The days were spent remembering Brigitte, and learning the stories her father was finally ready to tell. Michael Vaughn was almost broken, a sight that killed Emily and Sydney. They did their best to relieve his distress, and by the time Emily got onto her plane, Michael Vaughn had recovered significantly. 

Planes were usually a place a comfort for her, but Emily wanted her debrief to be completed before she got back. Reliving France was not a pleasant experience, and a slight depression settled on her heart, clouding her memories. 

The depression stayed with her, attaching hooks into her heart, not allowing her to feel happiness. It was back full force as she attempted to clear her desk of reports. 

Cursing in her head, Emily glanced up at the man who was clearing his throat in her doorframe. In a second she was out of the uncomfortable office chair and hugging a grinning Marcus Weiss. 

"Easy. I've still got a hole in my shoulder." 

Pulling back, Emily put on a mask of anger. "You asshole. You could have contacted me." She moved back to the chair, and Mark sat across from her. 

"They wouldn't let me. And besides, I just got out of that damn hospital yesterday, and they said you were on vacation. Hey, I'm sorry about getting caught, she just snuck up on me."

Emily smiled sadly. "Don't worry about it. They knew we were there, because there was someone in our hotel room. There was nothing you could have done."

Mark nodded, although he didn't let himself off the hook. Remembering the mission, he glanced at her. "Hey, the document. Did you get it?" Unless his eyes were deceiving him, Emily's demeanor became sad. 

"Yea, I got it. It led me to a cave near my grandmother's house. There was a tablet inside with engravings, but when I tried to take it out, it crumbled." She purposely left him out of her report, although she wasn't sure why. 

"Near the house? That man knew way too much about you. So what did it say, o great decrypter?" 

Emily smiled sarcastically at the remark, but her heart was sinking at the thought of the cave. "I couldn't read it."

"Bullshit." Mark had seen Emily translate enough Rambaldi documents to know she had a gift. He asked her again, more gently, "What did it say?"

Sighing heavily, Emily said the words that had been engraved into her mind. "Shall you see as I have, and use these visions not with your anger. You, my heir, posses not my blood, but my spirit. To you I pass my gift, my curse. In hope that you can do good, I grant you inheritance of a sight beheld by no other. There is an event you must experience in order to receive my gift. That you experience love, as I have never known. May my curse not render you desolate, but loved, and give you something to sleep to."

"Shit."

"Yea. I don't think the CIA would believe it anyway, and I'd like to avoid being analyzed by Barnett just because Rambaldi claims that I'm his heir."

"Ok Em, I won't say anything." Remembering why he was there, Mark glanced up suddenly. "Oh yea, Dixon called a meeting with me and you in five. Sounded important."

"You're wounded and I just got back. Can't be that urgent."

They walked down the corridors quickly; both hoping whatever mission they were going on didn't require a lot of skill. Ever since Dixon became the task force commander, the whole building had become friendlier. Dixon was kind, and was very good at what he did. Emily felt towards him something along the lines of what she felt for Poppa. Upon arriving at the conference room, she noted that it was bare of people, save Dixon himself. 

He smiled warmly at their entrance. "Glad to see you both back alive."

Emily gave him a small hug. "We're glad to be back alive."

Mark settled himself in a not so comfortable chair before asking, "So, what's the deal?"

Dixon turned to him, his eyes warm. "Be glad your dad's back at the old office building, because I'd tell him he raised you with no respect."

Mark winked at him. "I'll make sure to tell him for you." 

Emily ended the playful banter. "Isn't it a little soon to be sending us on a mission? We just got back." 

Dixon slid a folder across the table to Emily, looking solemn. Inside was a letter, addressed to the CIA. 

I have valuable information, only to be disclosed to Agent Emily Vaughn. She can receive an envelope at the Salle Rouge in France at nine tomorrow. She will not be searched for weapons or bugs. 

Emily glanced up shakily. "Sark?"

Mark pulled the letter over and gaped at it. Dixon nodded to Emily. 

"That's what we think. It says you can come armed, and Sark claims to have affection towards you. You're not in much danger."

Mark nearly exploded. "She's in even more danger! It's an obvious trap, one you're willing to just toss her in?"

Dixon narrowed his eyes. "No, that's why you'll be there along with other agents and a task force team around the building."

"He'll be expecting that. He's not as dumb as we'd like to hope."

Emily interrupted the heated argument by saying loudly, "I'll do it." She hadn't even meant to agree, but the words slipped unbidden from her throat. Mark and Dixon both looked concerned, neither had expected her to consent so easily. In fact, Dixon hadn't wanted her to go on the mission, but Langley ordered it. 

"Em, are you sure? You haven't seen the guy in what? Six years? Even then, it wasn't exactly a happy family reunion. How can you be so confident you'll come out of this alive?" Mark had heard the stories of her meeting with Sark, and didn't like to think of another one. 

"It's been five years. And I think his affection is genuine. I don't have any bad feelings about this, and you know how much I rely on my instincts. I doubt they would betray me now." 

Mark accepted her words; her instinct had never been proven wrong. Dixon nodded as well, and gave her the rest of the mission specs. "Ok, you'll leave tonight, and meet Sark at a nightclub in France at nine. There'll be three agents in the club with you, as well as a task force outside. Mark, you'll be on the wires. I would have assigned this to another agent considering your injury, but I know Emily doesn't trust anyone else. Good luck." With a few handshakes, Emily and Mark were back in the operations center. 

Emily let out a shaky breath, causing Mark to survey her in alarm. "You sure about this?"

Smiling thinly she responded, "Positive."

  
***

The smoky French club had a single motif: red. Emily weaved through different shaded rooms, looking for Sark. The other agents had not spotted him, so she headed towards a back section. Gliding through the entry, she was relieved to see this one was dedicated to maroon, a shade easy on the eyes. A figure stood out to her, back straight and swirling a scotch. The familiar ness of his profile made her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. 

"I see him."

"Sark?"

"No."

Suddenly self-conscious, Emily smoothed the black miniskirt over her hips. The outfit was entirely appropriate for the club, but she still felt out of place. She slid quietly onto the stool across from Ian, unable to meet his startled gaze. 

"Do you have something for me?" Her voice was low, barely able to contain the emotions running through her. 

"For you? But---oh hell." Ian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Damn him."

"Sark is the man that saved you?" Emily asked in a near whisper. 

Ian was surprised at her knowledge. "Andrew Sark saved my life."

Mark was nearly frantic as he heard the exchange. "Emily, I don't care if you know him, just get the envelope and get the hell out!"

Ignoring him, Emily leaned towards Ian, taking the full glass of scotch from his hands. "He's a wanted terrorist."

His eyes widened. Ian had ideas about Andrew, but never that extreme. Remembering what he said at the funeral, Ian stared hard at Emily. "He's your uncle."

Swirling the scotch slowly, Emily nodded to him. "I know." 

He handed her a small-unmarked envelope, speaking as she reached for it. "I wish I could get out, but I owe him too much. And I don't have anywhere else to go, no family. He is my family."

Her hands shook as she handled the white envelope, her fingers twitching wildly. Before she could put it away, her fingers were ripping the paper. Mark heard it, and was nearly screaming, "What are you doing? Wait until we can make sure its safe!" 

Inside was a single sheet of paper. Unfolding it slowly, she felt Ian's gaze on her. It was brief, but the few words that were written made Emily's heart leap. 

_I release Ian McGinty from my debt. He is free to live life any way he chooses._

_Yours truly, Andrew Sark_

A smile crept onto Emily's features as she handed the note to Ian. His expression was one of happiness, relief, and fear. Taking his hand, Emily whispered, "You're free."

Ian was terrified. Andrew was just dumping him out on the streets, a place Ian had been sheltered from. "I don't have anyone but him."

Emily took his other hand. Smiling gently, she squeezed them. "Yes," she said clearly, looking him straight in the eye,  "You have me."

A/N: Wow! I actually updated quickly! Please review, so then I'll hurry up with the epilogue!

*Duck


	8. Epilogue

_She's his yellow brick road_

_Leading him on _

_And letting him go_

_As far as she lets him go_

_Going down to nowhere_

As I sing, I lift my eyes to meet those of my husband. He winks, and I let the feeling of content was over me. 

She puts on her makeup 

_The same was she did yesterday_

_Hoping everythings the same_

_But everything has changed_

I wrote this song the day after Ian proposed. I waited until today to sing it. 

In my mind 

_Everything we did was right_

_Open your eyes, I'll still be by your side_

_How could I have ever been so blind_

_You give me something to sleep to at night_

The CIA took him in, although he refuses to disclose any information about Sark. We don't really work together that much, because he's not much of a field agent. I guess it's better that way; he doesn't really know how much danger I'm in, and we can't drive each other crazy. 

He wakes up to sound 

_So scared that she's leaving_

_He wishes she were still_

_Asleep next to him_

_Hoping she will change_

We've been married for three years now, and we've loved every second of it. He met my parents a few weeks after we moved in together, and they loved him. Poppa and Dad were a little overprotective, but he managed to win them over. Dad even hooked him on hockey, an addiction that runs strong in the Vaughn veins. Mom's not bothered by the whole Sark thing, although it did make her see a different side to him. 

In my mind 

_Everything we did was right_

_Open your eyes, I'll still be by your side_

_How could I have ever been so blind_

_You give me something to sleep to at night_

Exactly a year after I entered Rambaldi's cave, I started getting dreams. They were vivid, depicting different scenes of chaos and peace. That is his gift to me, as his heir. I know now what he was saying, because that was the night Ian proposed. 

You give me something to sleep to 

_And all I know is_

_You give me something to dream to_

_When I'm all alone and blue_

_Don't leave me now_

_Don't leave me now_

Rambaldi was never loved by a woman because of his prophecies, and he didn't want that for me. I had to be loved strongly in order to receive his gift. I use my knowledge wisely, and I can sometimes predict when missions will go horribly wrong. I've met with Barnett every week since the first dream, and she has given me enough support to prove my sanity. The CIA takes my word seriously. 

_Don't leave me now_

_Don't leave me now_

_Don't leave me now_

_Don't leave me now_

_Don't leave me now_

_Don't leave me now_

Now I'm here, singing this song as a gift to Ian for our third wedding anniversary. I've saved it for this night because I knew it was special. Tonight, I will tell Ian of a little secret I've been keeping, and I know he'll be thrilled. He's told me the stories of his brothers and sisters (there were five) and how he loved having a big family. 

In my mind 

_Everything we did was right_

_Open your eyes, I'll still be by your side_

_How could I have ever been so blind_

_You give me something to sleep to at night_

My life is exactly where I've always wanted it to be. 

A/N: Wow, another fic finished. Just wouldn't be a "revelation" fic without a Michelle Branch song! Wanted to give a **HUGE **thanks to Amy and Melia. Amy, well, you're my muse and polisher. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, **without you this would be total crap. **Melia, you're the best reviewer **ever. **I can always look forward to your reviews, and you've been with me since Los Angeles Revelations. Thank you. 

Disclaimer: I did not write _Something to Sleep To, _Michelle Branch did. She's awesome


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